


Tergiversation

by applecup



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Point of View, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, how many tags with the world alternate can i use, maybe i should have just called this alternation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecup/pseuds/applecup
Summary: On the remote planet of Quesh, the Emperor's Wrath is sent to eliminate a traitor to the Empire. In the course of their duties, they encounter a certain Jedi that they have seen once before - in a vision, confronting the Emperor himself. But all is not as it seems...





	1. Chapter 1

_That's far enough, Jedi._

Her own voice, lucid and distant. The red of her lightsaber, held- not defensively, but outstretched, a challenge to all comers. The lights that dotted the walkways leading to the Emperor's throne, the blackness in the pit that stretched up to swallow all who ventured too close to its edges, and the intruder- 

- _the Jedi-_

It took considerable effort - effort that she hated, effort that she didn't want to admit she could make and knew she had to anyway - considerable effort to focus on that thought, on that _person_. The Jedi; a woman, with green skin and purple eyes and long, black hair, pulled back into an orderly bun. Black ink, etched into that skin, in geometric patterns that escaped her understanding. Armour, thick enough to withstand a lightsaber, painted in Republic colours - the white of their army, the brown of their order. 

' _Stand aside, Sith_ ,' (the Jedi's voice, skipping the air and curling around her mind, impressing itself into her, word by word, syllable by syllable), ' _Surrender peacefully, and you may be spared. We are not here for you, but your master._ ' 

Her Master - her Emperor, sat resplendent on His throne, a void darker than any other. The icy chill at the back of her knees, the creeping sensation of always being _watched_ at the very base of her spine. He could have crushed her like a bug, at any moment; crushed them both, like ants beneath the fingers of a bored child. More powerful than any Sith, than any Jedi - than all Sith and Jedi, should their powers ever be combined, a darkness that could drown out even the most stubborn of lights. 

~~She just laughed, though-~~

\- 

_Forgive my interruption, Lord Wrath. We arrive at Quesh in an hour. Will you be requiring anything?_

For a long moment, Eirn didn't reply; just opened her eyes, slowly, lazily staring up the ceiling of her private quarters ('private', as though privacy were a thing she were afforded, any more) as the vision faded. The Emperor's throne- a _Jedi_ \- 

'No,' she replied, eventually; reaching out with one hand for her holo, her fingers finding the voice-only switch through habit as much as familiarity. The last thing she wanted was the impersonal closeness of the Guard - the eyes that saw everything, the lips that repeated them in secret to their master. 'Not until we arrive.' 

\- 

Quesh. 

Eirnhaya once-called-Illte, the Lord Wrath, hadn't- _laughed,_ exactly, when she'd been given her assignment, but there had definitely been the beginnings of a wry, humourless smile in her expression. Quesh had been where it had begun, what felt like a lifetime ago - and which was, in a way. Quesh, where she had died. Quesh, where she had been reborn. 

Now that they'd arrived, though, there was no time for introspection; no time for brooding dramatically on the edges of clifftops or lingering in halls she'd hoped to never see again. Her position as Wrath came with certain benefits, and certain drawbacks; a private shuttle, armed and armoured, that deposited her and her Guard in the nearest Imperial outpost to their objective. (The Imperials all glanced at her - at her armour, at her Guard's armour, and for a moment, their fear overpowered the stench of Quesh's own poisons) 

Her retinue were, as they always were, to remain at the outpost until further instruction - the bright red of the Imperial Guard, silent but only subservient where it concerned the wishes of their Emperor. Not that she needed them; the Wrath was a one-person wrecking ball, carving her way effortlessly through what Imperial troops had failed for weeks to breach. Those Republic forces that didn't flee (that were foolhardy enough to stand and fight, that were frozen enough to simply stand and stare) were cut down without mercy or ceremony, leaving a trail of blood and death that told in no uncertain terms of the power that had laid waste to this place. 

Her target wasn't difficult to find, either; the lone Jedi in the place, a terrified human man wearing the soft, neutral-coloured robes of his new order, cowering behind Republic infantry and scientists alike. Corpses, all, by the time she was finished - all except for him, the wretch of a man she'd been sent here to eliminate. 

' _Sajar_.' 

A single word; his name, amplified by the filters in her mask and hanging limply in the air between them, as much an accusation and an epithet as it was an address. 

'I will not fight you,' he replied - not moving from his spot on the floor. Not even reaching for his lightsaber - just- _there_ , sat cross-legged on the floor, absolutely rigid with fear. 'If I die, it is with Jedi teachings in my heart.' 

'You are even more pathetic,' she just added, ignoring his words, 'Than when you were Sith.' 

Sajar - Darth Obex  - had once sat on the Dark Council, the highest station any ordinary Sith could hope to achieve. For a time, Obex had been loyal, and obedient - at least, as much as any Sith who toed the line was either - but all that had changed, apparently, when he'd run afoul of a member of the Jedi's own Council. Eirn suspected that this Jedi would be an assignment of hers, too, sooner or later - but for now, it was limited to the shadow of a man in front of her. 

He was trying to ignore her, too; had closed his eyes, assuming a meditative pose as he stammered the Jedi's own code to himself. An attempt to- what? Steady himself? Appear defiant? He'd lost all illusion of power and courage when he'd hidden himself behind a shield of Republic scientists; whatever this show was, it had an audience of two alone, and Eirn had little patience for Jedi theatrics. 

' _-there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is-_ ' 

He was interrupted, too - choking, abruptly, as Eirn pulled at his fear and turned it against him, wrapping it around his neck and squeezing until his composure, poor as it was, shattered and he started to scrabble uselessly at the collar of his robes. So much for serenity; fear was radiating off him again, soaking into the air like an oil slick into sand, a gift that Eirn hoped some enterprising Jedi would find and report back to their masters. For now, though, she had a job to do - and one she needed to complete before those same Jedi found her here, at that. 

'Death,' Eirn growled, 'Is better than what a coward like you deserves.' 

It was what he got, though - what she was there for, what her Master had instructed of her - and came abruptly, his body jerking violently one last time as his neck snapped and this sombre play approached its end. Eirn wasted no time, once he was dead - pulling his saber to her hand, tucking it into her belt, but otherwise turning and leaving as abruptly as she'd entered. It would only be a matter of time, after all, until the Republic returned here in force. 

The Force was already nagging at her as she strode out of that bunker - nipping at her, humming a warning of a building storm as though there weren't a thousand of those in the galaxy already. The cloud of fear and death she'd left behind was deliberate, but unhelpful; one more blot on this toxic landscape, and one she wouldn't be sorry to see the back of. 

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, though - in her irritation, in her _brooding_ \- that she almost tripped over the Jedi before she saw them. They were entering, as Eirn tried to exit - there to investigate the alarm that had been sounded by the now-dead soldiers and scientists, and where there was a Jedi, Eirn knew there would shortly be many more Republic soldiers, a delay she had neither the time nor patience for. 

The Jedi was at least as startled - immediately darting back a step, twin sabers out and lit in their hands before the split second was even over. Eirn's own reactions were just as fast - her own red saber lit and striking at the Jedi before it had a chance to speak, putting her opponent immediately onto the defensive. The Jedi (green, female, black hair, and an accent that-) - wasn't alone, either - had brought an astromech along, a beeping, roaming thing that tried to charge at Eirn and, for the attempt, was used as an impromptu projectile - lifted and thrown at its Jedi master, with the Jedi first instinctively trying to shield herself with her sabers and then, when her thoughts caught up with events, making a dismayed, half-strangled noise as she moved too slowly and the droid caught on those same sabers, its frame making a satisfying _hissing_ noise  as the plasma blades ate through the metal. The droid - injured, damaged - clattered, against- the Jedi ,the wall, the floor, continuing to beep and whistle uselessly all the while. 

There was no time to savour the moment, though - the Jedi had to die (those were her orders - kill _everything_ , no witnesses, just carnage-), and Eirn was immediately pressing her attack, her red saber clashing against the Jedi's green ones (sabers, plural - green, the shadows they cast no less dark for the fact that their wielder was a Jedi). The Jedi was off balance, but it wouldn't last - and Eirn made full use of it, grabbing at her opponent with the Force (fear - her own, Obex's, the Jedi's), wrapping it around white-and-brown Republic armour and pinning her against the wall, crushing a green throat that- 

- _far enough, Jedi_ \- 

\- made Eirn pause, now that she had the time to examine the Jedi. Her expression was different, her eyes wild and her aura, here and now, was a whirling, tempestuous thing - not the calm, collected shell it had been in the vision, but- no, this _couldn't_ be- 

-but that train of thought was abruptly derailed by the Jedi pushing back, breaking Eirn's hold on her and slamming into the Sith with the Force itself. It caught Eirn by surprise, blindsiding her as much as the glimpse of her vision had, and Eirn's own saber was barely up in time to block the Jedi's green ones. It was, though - the plasma blades hissing as they met each other, green pressed against red, this time with Eirn on the defensive. An unacceptable place to be, but there she was, the Jedi only pulling back to strike at her again, utterly without mercy, a shining, _searing_ light- 

- _even there, amidst the darkness of his Throne_ \- 

-and Eirn hissed irritably as her focus wavered, fragments of the vision glimmering just long enough to distract her from the threat at hand. She didn't have time for this - her split attention, the impending arrival of more Republic troops, and so she reached inside herself and- 

( _Breathe deep, my Wrath._ She hadn't; hadn't wanted to, some instinct that still clung to her like a spiderweb to an undusted mantelpiece, trying to refuse to let her. Some last flicker of defiance, some drowning semblance of her mother's hope. 

And then she had, despite herself, and she had not stopped screaming since-) 

The Jedi, just as Eirn had, once, crumpled; sagged and wavered, staggering as the Emperor's own power overwhelmed her. It was a fragment of the Emperor's strength, nothing more - the sliver of himself granted to his Wrath, the deal cut in blood that Eirn could feel consume her a little more inside each time she drew on it. It ended things quickly, though - ate away at her, and dealt her enemies a blow that few could recover from. 

The Jedi, though, was obstinate; had staggered, yes, stumbling backwards until she hit the wall behind her, but was still refusing to be broken. 'Not today, Sith,' she snarled - fumbling for her lightsabers again, reaching to grab at where she'd dropped them when she'd stumbled. 

She was to be disappointed, though; Eirn beat her to it, flicking the Jedi's fallen sabers down the corridor. They skittered along the tiles, clattering against them as the Force bounced them further out of reach. The Jedi still did not give in, though - just coiled, corralling her last scraps of energy for one last, desperate, attack, and barely managing to keep herself conscious. 

'No,' Eirn replied, though - 'Not today, Jedi. Your futures do not cease here.' 

The sort of phrase she had grown up hating; the sort of phrase she still hated, the sort that she'd have decapitated any other Sith for speaking in her presence. Her master excepting, perhaps, but his sins were not Eirn's to forgive; besides which, Eirn had seen what happened ( _was_ what happened) to those who made attempts on the Emperor's existence, and it was not a fate she wished to experience. 

It was a sentiment the Jedi apparently shared, though, because she snorted - full of woozy disdain, as much slumping against the wall for support as she was standing as far away from Eirn as pride allowed. 

'You mean you don't have the guts to kill me,' she sneered - half spat, and half slurred, even as her legs began to give way. 

'All in good time, Jedi,' Eirn just replied - watching as the Jedi slowly succumbed to unconsciousness, and wondering if she wasn't making a huge mistake. 'All in good time.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god what am i doing
> 
> okay yeah another dumb au! because, you know. i don't have enough already :^)
> 
> feedback is always appreciated! of any and all kinds!! (thanks to the peeps on tumblr who left feedback on the original post, bless your cotton socks)
> 
> update schedule? pff, when did i ever stick to one of those. comments make it more likely, though!!
> 
> \- no, this is not sw/quinn  
> \- where is scourge? spoilers, babes


	2. Chapter 2

_but it was here it all began_ (again) 

\- 

The first sensation Eirn had been aware of was the taste of blood in her throat. 

Her blood, she'd realised, and she tried to breathe  - inhaling sharply, Quesh's toxic air clawing at her mouth and nose and throat and lungs as her breath came and went in sharp, wheezing coughs. Her eyes teared up, her nose dripped, blood spattered faintly on the inside surface of her helmet's faceguard. The world was nothing but pain and darkness, and for a moment, it seemed like it might remain that way. 

It passed, though; her coughing, choking breath settling back to a wheezing approximation of normal as her throat settled, and she could try to assess her situation a little more clearly. It was still dark; the world still pressed down on her, weighing on her where she'd sprawled awkwardly, her armour the only thing keeping her body intact. The Force stank of death and danger, and when she reached out with it, she started to remember why. She'd been in a mineshaft, deep beneath the Imperial position- 

- _and still was, the trap she'd blundered into having snapped closed around her quite entirely. There was no sign from the traitors whom she'd been chasing down here - no flickering of the Force left in their bodies, far less protected than hers - and none, at that, in the Imperial who'd accompanied her, the faithful medic who'd been watching her back since Balmorra. They were all dead -_

(and there were tears in her eyes, again; tears she did not have time for, tears she could not afford, but tears all the same) 

( _breathe, Illte_ ) 

\- 

It took time - too much time, time that she could not afford, time that wore at her every raw nerve, time it should not have taken - but she emerged, some hours later, exhausted and alone and desperately thirsty, crawling on her hands and knees out from under rocks that should have been her grave marker. Would have been, were it not for her obstinance. ( _Too stupid_ , someone would one day say, _and too stubborn to die_ -) 

On almost any other world, emerging into fresh air might have been a blessing. On Quesh, though, it just meant more of the poisons that filled this planet's air - meant a fresh fit of coughing, meant her raw and aching chest and throat feeling all the more as though someone had hacked at them with a grater. She quickly realised, too, that she was not alone - that there were others here, _Sith_ here, two of them observing her as she hacked and spluttered, and it took every nanogram of self control to make herself stumble to her feet, her lightsaber out and lit defensively before her conscious mind had fully processed what she was seeing. 

The Sith, though, simply watched; one smirked, at her defensiveness, but neither moved to so much as tug at the Force, never mind light a saber. They were watching her, she realised, as one watched a bug under a microscope - detached and critical, as though debating whether to pin her to a specimen board or simply squash her where she stood. Two Red Sith men, both dressed in understated black robes - both reeking of the Darkness in a way that not even her Master managed to. 

' _The blind child lives. Perhaps we misspoke._ ' The shorter of the two- spoke, of a sort, his accent thick and ancient in a way that unsettled Eirn - made her think of her childhood overhearing holocrons owned by her mother's own Master. 

'Who are you?' she managed - croaked, the way her throat cracked not making it any easier for a moment. 'What do you want?' she added, not giving them a chance to answer her first question. 

'Eirnhaya,' the other of them replied, eventually - the one who had not spoken before, 'Daughter of Illte, descendant of House Niyrn, apprentice to the traitor Darth-' 

( _his name wavered, just out of reach; her memory of it replaced with a sort of hateful screeching, with the sensation of kath claws scraping along bare skin and blood bubbling through sinuses_ ) 

'Traitor?' Eirn just managed, stupidly. Her master was the one who'd ordered her death, at least according to her rival, but- _traitor_? 

' _His hands grasp for a crown that lies beyond his reach,_ ' the first Sith replied - as though this a statement that was in any way helpful or informative. 

'I am Servant One, of the Emperor's Hand,' the second Sith added - or first, apparently, though Eirn's grasp of the thread of the conversation was rapidly weakening. 'My associate is Servant Two. Your Master,' he added, not waiting for that to sink in, 'Has tried, and failed, to dispose of you. While he has failed, he will make all the more certain not to do so in his next attempt. Thus, we have a common enemy. Even if for some reason you do not desire revenge, _survival_ is a powerful motivator, is it not?' 

_Revenge_. The most Sith of all things, but not a quality Eirn had been raised to favour. Not one she wanted to; not that she really intended to let an attempt on her life go unanswered, either. Too much was happening, though, too fast; her head pounded, and Quesh's toxins were gnawing at what little focus she could muster. 

' _You have died_ ,' the first- second?- Servant Two added, spreading his arms wide, ' _And been reborn._ ' 

'You knew I was down there,' Eirn just replied - thinking out loud, as much as making an accusation. They'd known she was there - hadn't helped, but hadn't hindered her any, either. Had simply... waited, watching her to see what would happen - if she would claw her way out, bloodied but not beaten, or if she would simply curl up and let the darkness take her. 

' _The Wrath must be tempered,_ ' Servant Two replied. ' _An untested tool is one that breaks._ ' 

'Wait,' Eirn started, rapidly beginning to feel all the more out of her depth, 'the _what_?' 

\- 

_The Emperor's Wrath_. 

Eirn had known she was out of her depth the moment those Sith had said those words, though it would be time, yet, before she truly appreciated just how true that was. 

\- 

The Imperial who'd been with her in the mines was not her only loss, that day. Those she'd left behind - her apprentice, her engineer, her factotum droid - had all been aboard her ship when the charges her rival had arranged for ignited - when explosions tore through its hull, dooming those not killed by the blasts to the cold vacuum of space. (Doing their share of damage to the orbital station, too; collateral damage, Eirn could only assume, of the sort that Sith rarely paused to care to avoid). 

_An accident_ , the inquest would conclude. _Poor maintenance of the hyperdrive led to-_

(but it had been serviced, she knew, not long before; while they'd been on Kaas, she awaiting orders from her then-master, an opportunity her rival had apparently taken to set the board in his favour. An incident she should have foreseen, and hadn't-) 

\- but this was years ago, and a matter long settled, a debt long paid. 

\- 

Even on the Emperor's Throne, there were masks that Eirn could not shed. Her gaze, except in the presence of her master, was always fixed at some distant point, straight ahead; her steps always regular and sharp, her bearing as confrontational as she dared to make it. As confrontational as she _could_ make it - a dare to those Sith who walked these halls to get under her feet and in her way. A dare to the Guardsmen to refuse her passage. 

(A dare to the Emperor, though to what, she did not want to admit) 

The throne room itself was in one of the more secure levels of the station, though that almost went without saying; if for no other reason than the theatrics of it. Both those who frequented this place, and those brought here as their final punishment - an audience with the Emperor, a final glimpse into the void before a protracted, pointless, death. The Emperor himself was not the only void to be glimpsed, either; behind the throne, transparisteel window panes allowed for a view of the darkness between the stars that Eirn had always found dizzying, if only for the way the station sometimes angled itself in the course of its orbit over Kaas. The walkway that approached the throne did so with a void of its own on either side, too - deep falls into the inner recesses of the station, with no barriers to act as second chances for those who misstepped - or who were tossed, a fate that Eirn had witnessed on more than one occasion. 

It didn't help that the memories of her vision kept nipping at Eirn's awareness, even as she tried to push them down; the way the Jedi's voice had echoed around these sacred walls, the green lights of her lightsabers, the sheer _obstinance_ of her presence. Eirn had always kept her visions - and her capacity for them - to herself, not least because she feared even now what her Master might take from her, if he knew what he might gain alongside it. It was one thing to deny that she had visions, though; it was another entirely to keep it secret that a Jedi might conspire to walk these halls, never mind that she had let that Jedi live. All the more reason to keep this encounter brief, and her thoughts focused firmly on the task at hand. 

At the base of the throne, as she always did, Eirn knelt - on one knee, her head lowered, and simply waited for the Emperor to address her. His focus was impossible to judge, and Eirn was quite certain that there were times that he would simply sit and make her wait simply to watch his Wrath squirm. Today, fortunately, did not seem to be one of those days; it didn't take long for his focus to shift to her, for him to acknowledge her approach and presence. Of a sort. 

_My Wrath. I trust you are successful._

His words were not spoken, precisely; they echoed through the Force, her Master's will imposed upon the space between them. She'd wondered, more than once, if her physical presence was even necessary - if his power couldn't reach across the Void itself, and always decided, each time, that this was not a question she wanted answering. 

'My lord Emperor,' she replied , her gaze not lifting for a moment, her tone as neutral as she could force it, her focus all on the task at hand. 'Darth Obex and all who protected him lie dead. As you commanded, my Master,' she added - producing Obex's lightsaber, at that, and offering it up in open hands, 'I bring you his lightsaber.' 

It had occurred to her, during her journey back to Imperial space, that it was possible that the Emperor had meant Obex's _Sith_ lightsaber, not his Jedi one. Or, at the very least, not _just_ his Jedi one. That was a task that Eirn had no idea where to begin accomplishing, though; given the general Jedi attitude towards Sith artefacts, it was probable that Obex's original lightsaber had been destroyed - or worse, purified. 

_This will have to suffice_ , she'd told herself - looking over the lightsaber, as she'd sat cross-legged on her bunk, still damp from the shower. 

The lightsaber left her hands, at that; she could _feel_ it, not just in the weight that no longer pressed against her open palms, but the tendrils in the Force that snaked around the stolen saber, lifting it as though it were no heavier than a downy feather. 

_You have done well, my Wrath_ , the Emperor replied, eventually; praise, or something like it, though they were never words that left Eirn feeling satisfied. Even now, they felt more like a condemnation - like an accusation, along with the demand that she defend herself. 

_I did my best_ , a part of her protested to herself, even if she did her best to smother that part before he could become aware of it. 

There was no silence, not truly; the distant rattle of the air circulation, the hum of the light circuitry, the occasional hitched breath or suppressed grumble of an impatient Guardsman. Her own heart, beating in her chest -the blood pounding in her ears, as her breath came and went. And there- above it, beyond it- the barely-audible clicks and clinks as the Emperor pulled his traitor's lightsaber apart, dishonouring his disobedient Councillor one final time. It was not enough, Eirn knew, to take a Sith's lightsaber - or a Jedi's, for that matter- but to make it one's own - or better yet, to destroy it- 

-and that was what he always did, the outer components clattering noiselessly, uselessly to the floor - some missing the walkway or rolling off it, pitching into the darkness below and falling out of sight and almost out of mind, but the crystal- 

no, the crystal was what held his attention, for now. For a Sith, their lightsaber crystal was their will, imposed upon the Force; for a Jedi, it was the Force's will, not just accepted but obeyed. It was the crystal that the Emperor turned his focus on - twisting the Force around it, constricting its flow until it suffocated, his anger, his hatred, his raw, terrifying, _dizzying_ power concentrated in that one spot- 

(and Eirn, at its edge, still felt its pull; felt that all-consuming darkness slither its tendrils over her, slipping themselves beneath her skin to find the places in her mind that still recoiled in horror and drown them) 

-and the Force _itself_ seemed to scream as the crystal twisted beneath the pressure, a pained, soundless screeching that blamed Eirn for the fact of its existence, that made her think of the other Jedi she'd left slumped against that research facility's corridor wall on Quesh _(_ - _what makes you think you had a chance?' it was her voice - her own voice, filtered through air she didn't recognise_ -)- 

-and it was over, the Void retreating into the recesses of her Master once more; the Force fell silent, and the crystal, having shattered, fell - was dropped, its shards scattering carelessly after the rest of what had once been Obex's lightsaber. Sajar's lightsaber; a Jedi lightsaber, for a would-be Jedi, stolen and shattered by vengeful Sith. 

In the moments after, all that Eirn could think was that the man himself had gotten away lightly; that death, terrified as he had been, was still a mercy compared to what the Emperor would have done to him. Assuming he would deign to, of course; shattering a crystal was easier than shattering a mind, even if both were ridiculously simple for a being of the Emperor's power. 

_Go. I will send word when I have need of you._

His attention was already elsewhere, though, and he wanted her gone - a desire she was more than happy to accommodate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have this theory that if i keep updates short, they might happen more frequently. we'll, uh. see how that goes.


	3. Chapter 3

_but since when did you care so much about visions_

\- 

Time, Eirn was certain, flowed differently aboard the Emperor's Throne. Hours slid far too easily into days, days stretched into weeks, weeks passed in minutes and months could last for decades. The detachment from the Empire did not help - the insulation from the war, from sunrises and seasons, by the Emperor's swaddling, smothering darkness. Even the rhythms of her own body had been warped out of recognition by the service she had drowned herself in - by the chains that bound her to the Emperor's will. 

Routine helped, and didn't help; was a measure of its own, her cycle of eating and exercising and, in lieu of sleep, meditation on the things expected of her by her Emperor. She ate alone, sometimes sat in the mess halls or canteens, watching the other Sith here like a hawk, all the while - but mostly in her quarters, tucked away from the wary, judgemental stares that she knew she attracted. There were no Sith here that coveted her position, exactly, but there were plenty who believed that she did not deserve it, and these halls made Korriban's look like those of her childhood Imperial academy, with rules that weren't just made but _obeyed_. 

It was not the life she'd wanted as a younger Sith. It was not a life, and was barely an _existence_. But for now, it would have to do. 

\- 

Receiving an abrupt summons was both unsurprising and a welcome interruption to the monotony of existence at the Emperor's pleasure; that it had not come directly from the Emperor himself was neither new nor a surprise. If there was any one thing Eirn had learned about him during her time at his heel, it was that the Emperor rarely lowered himself to such mundane things as issuing orders in person. This occasion was no exception, with Eirn being called not to the throne room itself but a smaller briefing room, and one she'd seen the inside of on many a previous occasion. There was little about it that was truly notable, other than its location; it had the same Imperial mood lighting as all in the Empire, the same severe decor, the same utilitarian furnishing. 

The same perennial inhabitant; an older Red Sith man, wearing a nondescript black robe and a perpetual scowl. 

'Servant One.' Eirn saw no particular reason to stand on ceremony, especially as the Emperor himself was absent. At least, as absent as he ever was in this place; he might not have been present in the flesh, but his was a spirit that always seemed to lurk in this place's corners and corridors. 

The feeling was apparently mutual, too; the Hand had never stopped looking down on her, but Servant One personified it best. As ancient and ageless as the Emperor himself; that was to say, that both had lives longer than the Empire, even if they could still theoretically be measured in countable years. His bearing, though, was everything that Eirn had grown up loathing about high-born Sith - a sneering, preening self-satisfaction, that measured all others up to some impossible standard and faulted them for being found wanting. 

' _Wrath_.' He still looked at her the way he had that day on Quesh - as though she'd squirmed out not from under half a ton of rock, but the sole of his boot. 

'I understand,' Eirn added, not allowing him time for his usual pleasantries, 'That our Master has a task for me.' 

Something about her remark made the Servant snort, though he gave no indication as to what, and he almost seemed like he was about to take her to task for it - until the moment shifted and he apparently decided against it. 

'That is why you were summoned, yes,' Servant One replied - eyeing her all the while, as though there were any other reason her presence would be required. 'It concerns the contents of a ship thought lost during the battle of Hoth. The details are irrelevant,' he added, with a small, dismissive gesture, 'But when the ship went down, it was carrying certain information in its databanks. Though the official Imperial records mark it as lost, we have been trying to locate it ever since. The information contained in its records is highly sensitive, and we cannot afford for it to fall into enemy hands.' 

'Let me guess,' Eirn started, not letting him finish, 'You've found this ship, and now you want its databanks back?' 

'No, Wrath,' Servant One replied, glaring at her for the interruption. 'The information cannot afford to fall into _anyone's_ hands. Republic _or_ Imperial. We do not wish it recovered. It must be destroyed, at all costs. Do you understand me?' 

There was a part of Eirn, even now, which itched to know more; to demand to know what it was the Emperor was so desperately afraid of someone knowing, to take a peek at this forbidden information herself, to cling to it as if it were a liferaft.  She knew immediately that it was a bad idea, and a doomed one, too - the Emperor was not a Sith from whom secrets could be kept, and particularly secrets he feared that anyone else might learn. 

'Destroy everything. Got it,' she replied - unable, even now, even with the glare that Servant One was giving her, to make herself adopt the same fearful reverence that the Emperor commanded. A last fragment of her defiance, perhaps; the one way in which she could dig her heels into the ground and not end up on her knees for it. 

'Wrath,' Servant One started, though - approving of her demeanour less and less as the conversation went on, 'This is not a matter to be taken lightly. You must ensure that the ship's databanks, and anyone who could have accessed them, do not survive. Anything less than this is unacceptable.' 

_Destroy the databanks in one downed ship. How hard can it be._

A foolish question, of course; Eirn knew full well that if it were easy, it wouldn't be something that would be assigned to her - despite the Hand's ongoing contempt for her. No, this not only had to happen, but had to do so in a way that the Emperor could be as sure it would be done as he could be without doing it for himself. And who better for such a task than the Sith with a little sliver of himself inside her? 

( _'you'll know it,' a voice murmured, in her memory, 'one day-'_ ) 

'The Emperor's will,' Eirn replied, 'Is my command.' She refrained from adding a bow, mocking or otherwise, not least because the Servant would have taken it as mockery regardless and, Eirn knew, reacted poorly. Humour was not a quality that powerful Sith tended to nurture, and those in the Emperor's circle were no different. 

'See that it is,' Servant One replied, not letting it drop. 'Guardsman Lassicar and his crew will be assigned to your command for this mission. The Guard have been briefed, and are awaiting you in docking bay three.' 

Which made Eirn's brows twitch before she could stop them, if only because the Imperial Guard were further risks and complications. The Servant noticed, too - his own browstalks drawing closer to him, just for a moment, before he smoothed his expression over with a practiced ease that would have drawn envy from even a Jedi. 

'In that case,' Eirn just replied, making sure to comment before the Servant could, 'I shan't keep them waiting.' 

\- 

_Well. I always did like the snow._

\- 

The Imperial Guard, with or without their uniforms, were as interchangeable and impersonal as droids - an insulting comparison, perhaps, only until one realised that their training had broken them down utterly and reforged them as little more. Eirn had quickly realised that their only loyalty was to the Emperor; not to each other, not to the Empire, and certainly never to _her_. They deferred to her only as much as their orders required them to - and she, in turn, returned that deference, tolerating their presence in her vicinity only as much as circumstances required. 

Not that they were ever overtly hostile - not in the way that Sith were, but the way they watched her was no less predatory, and all the more unsettling for it. Even armed and armoured as she was, it was impossible to shake the feeling, that should the order have been given, she'd be granted the way out of her unwanted immortality. 

'Lord Wrath. Welcome to the _Ravager_. I am Guardsman Lassicar, commander of this vessel. It is an honour to have you aboard.' 

Lassicar was cut from the same cloth all of the Emperor's servants were; unreadable, other than that steely dedication, and when he looked at Eirn it was with anything _but_ the submission most Imperials should have managed in her presence. He represented the Emperor's will as much as she did, after all; the irony that Sith and Imperials were equal in their service to the Emperor was not lost on Eirn, even if she'd never puzzled out the greater implications. 

Eirn just acknowledged him with a small, brief nod - glanced over the rest of the ship's bridge, before turning her attention back to Lassicar. 'We should depart immediately. I will be in my quarters. Notify me when we are an hour from arrival. Otherwise, I am not to be disturbed.' 

She turned abruptly, at that, and left - not even waiting for Lassicar's _yes-my-lord_ , prompt as it was. An act she'd have thought of as rude, once; here, where courtesy was a weakness, it wasn't just expected but demanded. 

\- 

Her quarters were where they always were - the rooms permanently assigned to the Wrath on these ships, an interchangeable set of walls that allowed no true privacy, but at least let her put a closed door between herself and every other person on this ship. Calling them _hers_ was not strictly true; they were the Wrath's, yes, but they belonged exclusively to her no more than anything else on this ship did. 

There was a bunk, though, which she could lie on and stare at the ceiling as though sleep were anything but some half-forgotten myth, and a fresher, which she could ignore until she had to scrape the smell of blood and sweat off her skin. Storage closets that in some optimistic other life might have held her clothing or belongings but in this one contained nothing but silent judgement. It was still preferable, though, to the alternative; sitting in a mess hall or lounge, avoiding the silent, penetrating stares of the Guardsmen - or perhaps on that bridge, the only Sith among the lot of them, and with nothing to occupy her attention but the unsettling glow of hyperspace. 

(It gave her time to think, not that she lacked for that; to review the briefing that the Servant had given her, to pick over his words and pick through the intelligence loaded into her datapad. To plan, to worry on the snows of Hoth and the logistics of tracking down a single ship in what seemed to be a veritable graveyard of them. To drop the datapad on the bedside table and glare irritably at the ceiling once more, as though it were somehow personally responsible for all her woes) 

\- 

~~_she just laughed, though-_ ~~


End file.
